Carry Me To A Silent Harvest
by TrickyWolfyx
Summary: Dealing with the RED base's unlikely troublemaker is a job itself,[OC] but when the Administrator suddenly loses ownership of the BLU team and the fall of Mann Co. leads to the scarceness of valuable supplies required for the war, the RED team must prepare for a string of unpredictable assaults. Can they stop it before Respawn fails or will petty emotions hinder their redemption?
1. Autumn's Glory

_**Disclaimer:**__ All Team Fortress 2 characters do not belong to me._

_**Rating:**__ Might be changed in the future_

_**Genre/Content:**__ Drama, adventure, complicated friendships, and "possible" romance_

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_Carry Me To A Silent Harvest_

_Chapter 1: Autumn's Glory_

A seemingly quiet night was beginning to unveil across the rugged countryside; the once cerulean sky slowly mixing with a variety of warm colors while the sun began to melt into the horizon. Cool waves of wind swept up the autumn leaves, causing them to twist in an elegant dance above the ground.

The last rays from the sun lit up the remaining leaves on the trees, giving them the appearance of small fires that flickered in the breeze until the 'embers' would flutter down to join the rest. Vast mountains loomed over the scenic land and the sunlight gradually dimmed across them.

In the midst of the largest hill, an old bridge suspended above the grassy exterior. Its triangular structure appeared to be rusted, however, a few spots on it still gleamed in the fading sunlight. A railroad stretched across the top of the bridge, leading back towards the mountains miles away.

In the eyes of a stranger, all would seem peaceful on this mountain-side paradise, but this place was very much the opposite.

Anticipation filled the souls of all the men within the two opposing bases on either side of the valley.

_Mission begins in 5...4...3...2...1_

The splendor of the silent twilight dissipated as the roars of war swiftly pierced through the peace, the land becoming a battlefield. Another battle between the RED and BLU team was under way and both sides were fighting with all their might to conquer the Viaduct.

The ear-splitting sounds of the crashing rockets and explosives thundered throughout the area. Scarlet red fire engulfed everything it touched and a never-ending frenzy of bullets shot across the field.

Seconds flew by..

Minutes passed…

Blood was shed, the ground was tainted with debris, bones shattered, and the cries of hostility still rang loudly.

Within a calmer area of the battleground, a BLU sniper scanned the scene. He watched his team members die one by one. Even a few members of the opposing side eventually took their fall, but the infamous Respawn system kept the vigorous fight going, sending the members back into the turmoil seconds after their death.

The RED and BLU corporations were definitely lucky to possess such mind-blowing technology: cloaking devices, teleporters and even a machine that cheated death on a daily basis.

The Sniper's eyes narrowed at the sight of the quarreling men before him, but a small grin formed on his face even after viewing more of 'his' team's downfall. A quiet "heh" escaped from his mouth as he walked back towards his base, passing a few of the BLU mercenaries who were eager to get back into the fight.

A few of his accomplices even bumped into him along the way, but considering the RED team was currently overthrowing the Viaduct, they barely paid the middle-aged man any attention.

His smirk grew larger as he spotted the BLU Soldier instructing a Pyro of a new strategy in hopes to retake their land. The man with the gas mask tilted his head in confusion while listening to the extremely loud Soldier's commands. "Mmmrph..?"

"For God Sakes, you sorry sack of scum!" The Soldier threw his rocket launcher effortlessly over his shoulder. "This plan will ensure OUR victory!"

The Sniper calmly went in their direction, however they did not seem to notice the man. His footsteps were being drowned out by all of the explosions and gunshots much to his advantage.

He almost laughed at the silly plan that the idiotic Soldier was powerfully spewing at the pyromaniac. Soon after, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cold metal object, his fingers snaking around the handle.

With a few twists and flips of the two rotating handles, the concealed blade finally made itself visible. Step after step, his form drew closer until the anticipation began to overwhelm his tall form. He never got tired of the deceit that he carried out on a daily basis, and the mere thought of his cruel actions made the man almost too giddy on the inside.

The Soldier had given up on Pyro fully understanding his 'flawless' plan and was preparing to reenter the battle.

Eventually, the bearer of the knife was directly behind the flame-loving mercenary.

The_ Sniper's_ arm began to lift up, fluently flipping the blade downwards and allowing it to hover over the fire maniac's spine.

"Yo, batter up!" a voice blatantly called out from behind him, freezing the Sniper's movements completely.

The departing Soldier swung around at the sound at the voice. He growled upon sight of the knife in the _Sniper's_ hand and instantly retaliated. "SPY!" He pointed his large weapon directly at the aggravated man, ready to pull the trigger. Before he could fire, the owner of the unexpected voice quickly approached the scene and jumped above the Pyro. Then, by kicking against the masked figure's head, the RED Scout launched himself towards the crazed patriot.

A cocky grin stretched across the Bostonian's face as he slammed his aluminum bat right into the Soldier's jaw, feeling a tinge of excitement when he heard his bones crack.

"Arrghh!" A short grunt of pain rumbled in the Soldier's throat, his head violently being thrashed to the side. The sudden attack from the younger mercenary caused him to jolt his weapon slightly to the right just as he fired the rocket launcher.

A gasping sound erupted from the Pyro's mask as he whirled around, but the still-disguised RED Spy managed to jam his butterfly knife into his shoulder before the rocket smashed into the ground next to them. They managed to avoid being hit by the projectile, however, the missile detonated upon hitting the terrain. The impact knocked both mercenaries to the ground, both letting out a yelp of discomfort. The blast sent dirt and a few pebbles of concrete straight up into the air, then all came tumbling down right on top of the men.

The only one who was unaffected by the rocket blast was the Scout. His bright blue eyes were beaming in excitement while he viewed the motionless Soldier lying in the dirt.

"Scout, you imbecile!" the Spy shouted at the taunting boy while his Sniper disguise dissolved.

"Whoa! Did'ja see dat?!" the young man laughed, oblivious of the shower of debris crashing just inches away from his sneakers as he watched the enemy Soldier's body twitch a couple times. "I think I just broke his fuckin' neck!" His fingers curled into a fist against his mouth while he continued to gloat.

Spy snarled while glaring daggers at the Scout, but his attention averted to the angered Pyro who was currently approaching the both of them. The previous loud noises attracted a few other BLU team members as well. Most of their weapons were pointed at the loud-mouth and the Frenchman. Some even began to charge at them, yelling furiously. Spy got to his feet, and brushed the dirt from his pinstriped suit.

"Hey, Spy! I'm talkin' ta you!" The younger man paid no mind to the approaching BLU team, and just continued his ramblings about his quick victory.

Ignoring Scout, the foreigner searched his suit for the revolver that rested within, and instantly began to fire it at the Pyro once it was freed. The Spy growled at how many bullets he was taking, but a hint of satisfaction spread on his face when the mumbling abomination let loose one final muffled scream before falling to the ground.

The Frenchman calmly straightened his collar and gave Scout one last intimidating glance before cloaking in mid step, his form disappearing from the field.

With a pouty huff, Scout finally focused on the enemy team rather than his accomplishment and began to run in the opposite direction. "Yeah, well you're welcome!" he called out, then began to run along the outlines of the battlefield, warily judging the enemies movements.

The adrenaline pulsed through his veins as he dodged several bullets, but one managed to scrape across his cheek. After shoving his trusty bat into the duffel bag on his back, he swiftly turned his body. Effortlessly running backwards, he reloaded his Scattergun, then fired several rounds into the closest enemy. As soon as the opposing member fell with an agonizing cry, the Scout proceeded in running forward and fully escaping from the flurry of attackers. Most continued to trail him, but a few attempted to find the Spy who was probably still lurking around their base. He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk, noticing a single BLU Demoman heading towards the center of the Viaduct.

After getting a good peek at the rest of the BLUs, the Scout pressed a small button on his yellow headset, activating the talk setting on the device.

"Yo, some of the BLU fags are headin' back towards their base!" he yelled into the mic while evaluating the enemy team. His speaking had no trace of exhaustion whatsoever, despite how much he had been running that night.

The rest of the REDs listened carefully to his voice coming from the other side of their much smaller earsets or walkie-talkies, two of their biggest means of communication on the battlefield. _ "The closest one ta you guys is 'bout 90 degrees to the left of the center point. Looks like he's hidin' bombs unda' the leaves! He thinks he's pulling a fast one on us!"_

The RED Medic winced at the volume of the Bostonian's voice and placed a gloved hand over his ear as an instant reflex, however, he acknowledged the newly given information.

_"The rest are comin' ta you! Let's waste em!_" The Scout concluded.

"Come along now, Doktor." bellowed the Heavy who stood close by, his Russian accent rough and thick.

"You heard the man! Do not allow the cowards to hide out in their base! We will force them out and we will claim this land as ours!" screamed their Soldier, his fingers tightly grasping a brass bugle. He inhaled sharply before blowing into the mouthpiece of the instrument, letting out a far from harmonic call, however, the fanfare was just enough to spike all of the nearby teammates' adrenaline.

"Charge!" was the last thing he yelled before most of the RED and BLU teams bolted towards each other. Both sides rushed to the middle of the field—most fired their weapons, and a few even fought diligently with their fists. At times, foul play seemed to be the only option if the moment truly called for it in the eyes of the determined mercenaries.

By this time, the sun had fully disappeared from the sky and night took its full control over the Viaduct, wrapping a dark blanket over the fall setting. There were limited light sources, although they were highly effective. One source being the voluminous amounts of fire that sprouted from the Pyros' weapons, some of the flames engulfing several of the smaller buildings and plants within the vicinity.

Even the smaller guns gave off a small sense of illumination, each shot showing off the fierce expressions that every single member on that field possessed.

From the sidelines of the heated warfare, an outbreak of flaming arrows pierced through the air, their destination being the heads of the BLU team. The culprit couldn't help but smile when one of his projectile weapons efficiently broke through the BLU Medic's skull, his small glasses being split in two in the process.

"Ahh. The poor bloody bastard.." mumbled the Sniper, one of his eyes still gazing at the mess that he just made. "Thanks." He gave his accomplice a quick thumbs up.

"Mhhhuumm." the RED Pyro had been standing with the Huntsman for the last several minutes, assisting him by lighting up his arrows for added on damage, and for his amusement.

"Looks like they need ya down there, mate."

His fire-loving teammate merely nodded then ran to aid the rest of his allies, finally feeling healed thanks to the Dispenser that was erected nearby.

A level three sentry gun stood fairly close to the RED base, shooting down any enemy who barely entered its field of vision, its watchful eye being highly lethal. Its creator continued to maintain the territory of the left side of the Viaduct, letting a few hearty laughs considering the signs of their imminent victory. Of course, the Engineer was always optimistic.

Someone had to be, anyway.

This war had become a way of life for the eighteen men from the two teams; in fact.. for some, it was the only thing that they knew. Fighting over a handful of land, stealing classified information, and continuous attempts to wipe the opposing team off the face of the planet? Nothing out of ordinary for the mercenaries. Just another day.

In a sense, an insignificant number of members did not even view this as a war at all, but more like an athletic competition.

They say that the lack of fear could trigger the most outstanding feats. That was the mindset of the REDs. But, perhaps the absence of distress could prove to be an Achilles heel.

But...of course not, they easily pushed that idea far away.

Both sides had their share of losses and wins, but that night, RED team was gradually taking over the valley below the bridge.

Countless bullets were buried into the bodies of the men and rockets continued to slice through the sky, some even crashing into their bases.

The Engineer had abandoned his sentry to aid his comrades, bravely striking down the ones who approached him with his wrench, then with his shotgun in hand, he pelted an abundant rain of shots at his opponents. Eventually, all nine members of the RED team stood in the middle of the field, guarding the point with their lives. With the colossal bridge hovering above them, its metal reflected the light that detonated from each of their weapons, its structure beaming just like the rest of them. The majority of the BLU team had abandoned their posts as well, their new destination being the center point.

_Mission ends in 5..._

Another onslaught of sticky bombs was hurled at them, the blue objects spinning at a rapid pace.

"Whoa! Incoming!" shouted the Scout. Two of the bombs exploded in mid range, causing the frontline of mercenaries to lose their footing. The spiked weapons that were hidden underneath the fall leaves along with the newly released ones were messily blown away thanks to the Pyro's air compression blast, sending the small explosives right back at the BLUs.

_4….._

The erupting projectiles were thrown back at their enemies, but since the REDs were so close, it would be expected that they received plenty of damage just as well. Cries of pain echoed throughout all the members within the center of the valley, but the fight still went on.

"Don't you die on me, ladies! Hold this point!" The RED Soldier's words were still booming, and although his rocket launcher had ran dry, he still had his shotgun to retaliate against their adversaries.

_3….._

"MEDIC!"

The Medic's face contorted with anticipation, his lips forming into an excited grin while his eyes remained focused on his teammates. The red ray from the Medigun continued to make its way towards a single mercenary at a time, the warm light soaking into whoever needed it most. Their own team's Demoman launched bombs towards the BLUs, bringing on another string of clamorous explosions across the field, while the Scout picked off any enemy who attempted to run away or whoever stepped too close to the center.

_2….._

"Haaarrrrgggghhh!" The Heavy unleashed a shower of bullets towards the few BLUs who were left, each tearing into their bodies and ripping their already weakened features to shreds in a violent manner. His minigun spun rapidly, the mouth of the weapon seemingly spat fire while it continued to unleash the Russian's wrath.

_1…_

The remaining BLU team members fell to the ground, blood outlined their unmoving forms—the roar of the guns gradually dying down with them.

_"Victory..."_ Even in the hour of triumph did the Administrator's voice sound threatening.

Breathing heavily, the winning mercenaries simply stood their ground before the realization of their successful mission sunk into their tired minds. A few cheered, and the others just nodded their heads in acknowledgement.

The Viaduct was theirs. The BLUs would be forced to retreat after they respawn, and they will find a new place to settle until they return to attempt to reclaim the mountainous valley again. That normally lasted until they had their eyes set on another piece of land that held much value to the TF Industries. Of course, they only followed orders from the Administrator, and until then, they were going to celebrate their achievement.

The team happily but exhaustively trudged in the direction of the damaged building which had became their makeshift base during the time. They have been fighting for the Viaduct territory for months now, so a well earned rest was to be expected. Plus, a huge win for the Reliable Excavation Demolition team meant that their pay would be an extravagant amount.

After a match, the area was nothing but beautiful. Their base was now caked in mud and the smell of smoke would make one's eyes water just by stepping into the building. Windows had been blown out and blood smeared across the walls. Pieces of glass were scattered across the floor, fusing together with the puddles of red liquid. The Respawn system took care of all the bodies, but the metallic smell still lingered throughout the Viaduct stronghold.

The sight didn't seem to affect the jolly mercenaries as they walked through the hallway of their base. It would seem like this war was like a game to them; a happy way of life considering the expressions on their faces. Most were covered in mud and blood, but they hardly paid any attention to the unclean substances.

"Good job out there, lads. Another win for us!" Sniper said while trying to crack his back.

The Pyro did a quick twirl and clapped his hands, agreeing with his comrade. "Mrrphhh!"

"All thanks ta me!" Scout patted his chest with his usual overconfident grin. The looks that he was receiving from his teammates made him wince subtly, but his smirk remained on his dirtied face while he shrugged "Well, I guess you guys helped out a lil' bit."

Knowing that throwing a comeback at the young man would spark a longterm argument, the Spy bit down on his tongue, holding back the temptation to go against the Scout's words.

"Ya know they'll rue the day they crossed us!" boomed a drunk Demoman, his words loud and slurred. "Think the bloody bleedin' devils ever get used to their arses being forced up'a tree?! 'Till they seewhut thur' in ta, we'll be 'roundtheway-" The scottish man continued his ramblings until his words became gibberish.

The Sniper tilted his head slightly, but gave the demolitions expert a friendly grin. "Right! Whatever you say, mate!" he said while giving him a rough pat on the back. His smile slowly disappeared whenever the Demoman fell forward right after the playful gesture, the colored man's face still bright with joy. The team cringed when his face slammed into the floor, then stared at the his immobile form for a while until someone bothered to speak.

"Godspeed.." mumbled the Soldier, stifling in a laugh.

"The boy done passed out again." The Engineer's low voice finally rang out, his tone sounding a bit agitated. He knelt down beside their unconscious friend, evaluating his condition. "He's out like a light."

"Fantastic." Spy's tone sounded uninterested as he opened his disguise kit, picking out a new cigarette from his large selection.. Medic's expression was close to the same, but a slight tinge of embarrassment mixed along with it.

The Texan slightly lifted up his construction helmet, lightly scratching his head. "Weeeelp.." he breathed, "Who wants to carry him to his room?"

"Uhhh.."

"Hmm.."

"Errmm. Um.."

"After you." The seven men then went silent, all giving each other questioning glances and attempted to gesture that anyone but themselves be the one to be the Good Samaritan for the night.

With a playful push, Heavy shoved Scout towards the drunk man, while a few more of the REDs happily agreed with the decision.

"What the hell?! Why me?" the youngest man groaned, his eyes narrowing to small slits.

"Why not?" The Medic had a devilish grin plastered on his face.

"I freakin' did it last time!" The Scout fumed, his scattergun resting on his shoulder and a dirty hand was placed on his bruised hip. "Make Mumbles do it."

"Mphhhmhhmm! Mmphhudda!"

"Well, gentlemen, I must bid you adieu." With that, the Spy resumed walking down the hall, leaving the remaining six to deal with the Demoman without his assistance.

The Engineer had no expression while he listened to the ruckus, partly questioning the maturity level within the group.

The mercenaries grew quiet once more when the double doors on the opposite end of the hallway swung open, then the sound of squeaking wheels overwhelmed the corridor. They stood and waited, knowing what the source of the noise was. A few of the members even began to feel uneasy.

A form approached them, pushing an old, rickety cart which contained multiple bottles filled with chemicals and a few other essentials such as towels, a small basket, a dustpan and a small knife. Three, long rods jetted from the back of it, close to where the person's hands grasped the wheeled convey. On the lower level of the cart, two metal buckets rested within, one even splashing water every time it rolled over a bump on the wooden surface.

The Spy curiously viewed the person as he drew nearer, however it wasn't enough to keep him present. The Frenchman simply walked passed the strange figure, and departed from the hallway.

The REDs couldn't resist the temptation to look over the unnerving individual who pushed the cart. Most of the person's face was covered—the nose and mouth being shielded by a dark red bandana while the custodian's hair was hidden by a rounded, Gatsby styled hat which was almost too big for his head. The clothing he was wearing were rather ragged. The long sleeves on his dark, brown shirt were ripped and tattered while his pants were neatly tucked into a pair of knee-high boots.

_Strange contrast.._

Scattered across the several contents of his shirt were small white spots as if bleach had been poured or accidentally splashed on the attire; the pants sharing the same attribute in a few areas. The garments definitely appeared to be slightly oversized. The fabric barely hugged his body.

Along with the squeaking from the cart, the items which hung from his utility belt jingled with every step.

One of his hands was protected by an industrial glove, the only piece of clothing that seemed to fit, however the other remained uncovered. This limb did not contain human flesh or bone, but was made from man-made materials. From the mercenaries point-of-view, they could only get a glimpse of his steel hand because the long sleeves concealed the rest, but that was just enough evidence for two or three members of the team to conclude that this person was indeed a robot_—mostly the Soldier_.

The Engineer bit the inside of his cheek when he spotted a few traces of rust outlining the knuckle of the prosthetic limb, much to his annoyance.

There were several other rumors revolving around the janitor as well. Him being an enemy spy, a cannibal, using his steel hand to commit murders without getting caught, him being the true end to the RED team members before them, and to the most absurd stories imaginable. The origin of the three scars surrounding his left eye triggered even more tales of his wickedness. Stories of the uncanny custodian were the gossip for the RED team when they were not fighting amongst themselves.

They never knew his name, and most didn't even want to, so they took justice in giving the rugged individual their own cognomen. Besides "freak" or "the other spooky masked guy" the name that stuck the longest was Ol' Dust.

The bill of the hat created a shadow over the character's eyes, however, a faint green could be seen when he returned the gaze.

"What are you lookin' at?" The Scout finally spoke, feeling a tad bit intimidated by the newcomer's threatening look. Then again, the youngest mercenary always had an itch to fight someone, whenever and wherever he was. The owner of the cart simply narrowed his eyes at the Bostonian's rude remark, the gaze appearing to be rather hostile, but did not cease from walking down the hall. Scout scoffed when he received little to no response from the shady character, and only intensified his glare when the custodian passed by the eight mercenaries. "Yeah, you betta' keep walkin'."

Soon, the mercs watched as Ol' Dust walked to the entrance of the base, then began to set up all of the gear that was available within the cart. Finally losing interest with him, both the Soldier and the Scout went to the drunk man on the floor, each throwing one of the Scottish man's arms around their shoulders, hoisting him off the ground.

With that, they began to walk towards the exit of the corridor, leaving Ol' Dust alone to work. On the way, they were nothing but quiet during their tread through the hall. The chatter mostly came from the Scout, rambling words along the lines of how he could have easily taken Dust down if he tried something stupid. Most of the sober team members had at least one comment about the previous confrontation as well.

From the corner of his eye, the victim of the gossip watched as the last of the mercenaries entered the second set of double doors which lead into the heart of the base. Finally, they had departed from the hallway. A low grumble came forth from the custodian, the voice being slightly muffled due to the thin bandana that covered his nose and mouth. He scanned the newly deposited dirt that trailed along the wooden floor. The contents from the muddy footprints mixed with countless droplets of blood which poured into the cracks in between the unpolished planks.

How lovely—as if the shattered glass, broken wood, and scattered ashes weren't enough.

Of course, this was just a daily routine for a janitor who worked within the Reliable Excavation Demolition base.

Ol' Dust's metal hand creaked loudly when he reached for the mop, its finger movement hardly being able to function due to the rust that surrounded the mechanical joints.

He had to get that fixed very soon, for he had plans for the next day. He had his own way of celebrating a victory.

A smile formed underneath his bandana as he began to run the mop across the filthy floor, the thick contents of red blood mixing with the bubbling chemicals that quickly spread across the wooden planks.

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**_Random Note: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of the story and thank you for your time! This story is just for fun! Haha If you have any more time to spare, please leave a review if you'd like!_**


	2. Ashes

Cleaning up after one of the chaotic battles between the RED and BLU teams was never a swift process, in fact, it would take several hours if Ol' Dust was lucky. Of course, the infamous janitor was not the only caretaker who provided an extensive line of services to the innumerable bases that the mercenaries possessed.

Several men took part in outdoor labor such as demolishing the immense piles of debris that scattered across the field while Dust sterilized the interior of the RED base. After the assigned rooms are spotless, the shady character is then assigned to assist the groundskeepers.

That did not seem to be such a huge problem for any of them. While Mann Co. provided the hired killers with quality supplies, an industrial cleaning company from the Badlands supplied Ol' Dust and the other caretakers with provisions of their own. They had a fairly large choice of janitorial supplies; some even having traces of radioactive ingredients mixed within. The lethal materials definitely cut the custodian's labor hours in half by a long shot, however, they had to pay out of their pocket for them—_unlike the mercs_. Since most of the simpler maintenance was carried out by the Engineer whenever there was a ceasefire, the number of custodians were rather scarce. The other eight mercenaries would even pitch in if given the right motivation.

The variety of people who were hired to work within the TF Industries never fully knew what they were getting themselves into. Countless amounts of new recruits were either killed on the job, ran away from the madness, or simply quit before their second day. The assassins of the Reliable Excavation Demolition team found that toying with the new faces in the area was quite amusing.

Their employer never stopped them either. If new recruits were too weak or skittish in the eye of danger, then they would be more fortunate if they were far away from her, or better yet—_dead_. However, those that continued to fascinate her by carrying out certain actions would be spared on occasion, whether or not it was fueled by her morbid amusement with their poor living conditions or the fact that they had become rather creative when it comes to **dealing** with the mercenaries. It was far more entertaining than their deaths.

Dust had worked for the REDs for around three years now, and the worn-out individual was possibly one of the few associates, besides the mercenaries, who refused to leave—even if the place gave an inconsiderate amount of discomfort to _those of lower standards.._

It had been several hours since the Viaduct mission, but Dust had lost track of time. Exhaustion took over as the wobbling janitor attempted to use a broom for balance. It had to be around 2 or 3AM by now, but thankfully, the job was finished for tonight.

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**Morning.**

The scent of freshly brewed coffee quickly overpowered the oil and burnt metal inside of the Engineer's workshop. Waking moments after the crack of dawn was relaxing for the Texan. It was peaceful and the best time for him to fully enjoy constructing things in a recreational sense rather than building in the midst of chaotic gunfire. Piles of scrap metal rested in the corner of his domain which was stacked as neatly as possible while various pieces of prototype sentries stood upright next to the walls. A pair of activated level 1 sentries were mounted near the doorway—just in case there happened to be an intruder. There were countless amounts of gadgets and intriguing segments of machinery dispersed all around the workshop, though most of them were beginning to rust.

The RED team had captured the Viaduct territory months before as well, so most of their old belongs still resided in their base. Even if the BLUs desired to raid every room within the stronghold, the workshop was practically rigged. They would wind up at Respawn before they could lay a finger on anything. The Engineer let a relaxed sigh before sitting at a dusty table with a mug of hazelnut flavored coffee in hand, and began scanning over his old creations, a smile brightening up his features.

An unsettling creak sounded throughout the workshop and a light from the hallway crept inside. The two sentries guarding the entrance made a series of beeps, but never fired. The door swinging open and the chain of footsteps following soon after caught the Southerner off guard. Subconsciously removing the pistol off his belt with his free hand, he whirled his body in a rapid motion, spilling a few drops of his steaming coffee on the ground.

"Aww hell.." the Engineer growled when he watched his guest slowly approach him, a pair of deep green eyes was the only attribute he could decipher. "You gotta stop doin' that before I accidently shoot ya." He lowered the gun and placed it back into its holster around his waist. "Knockin' wouldn't kill ya!"

_Didn't he have that door locked?_

If the Southern man didn't know any better, he would believe that Ol' Dust was smiling mischievously underneath that blood red bandana. The ragged janitor stood before him, and an uncomfortable silence embraced the workshop as the Texan waited for an explanation for this early morning visit.

"What the matter? Did ya forget how to talk, darlin'?" A bit of truth intruded the Engineer's joke.

Uncertain eyes of jade wandered across random areas of the room for a moment. Once they made their way back to Engie's rounded goggles, a sharp breath escaped from Dust's lips as the character inched closer to the older man.

"No.." the custodian started, and extended a hand towards the Engineer, showing the amount of rust that had been forming across the steel limb. "But, if you could fix zis, I would be grateful." A foreign accent was evident, but none of the mercenaries knew where Ol' Dust was from. After researching and exchanging collected knowledge between one another, they concluded that the janitor was not of any race that they were familiar with.

Only two of the nine mercenaries had even heard the individual speak, and considering the very little confrontations with Dust, hearing that voice was becoming a rarity. Hand-in-hand with all the horror stories, the remaining seven assumed that the janitor had his voicebox ripped from his throat—the reasoning behind the silence and the bleach-stained scarf that he always wore, keeping his neck hidden. On top of that theory, a few suspected that if Ol' Dust did have a voice that it would be gruff and the low tone would make just about anyone shiver in fear, however, it was quite the opposite.

It wasn't even close to being gruff.

In fact, it actually wasn't even a _male_ voice at all.

Ol' Dust was indeed a mysterious one. The janitor's choice of clothing and habits of remaining dead quiet around most of residents within the RED base kept many suspicions of her being_ female_ at a minimum.

The Engineer cleared his throat before evaluating the metal hand, thoroughly studying where the rust clung to the artificial joints. "You outdid yourself this time." The corners of his lips dropped, forming a tiny frown. "There's more rust on this thing than an ol' nail left in the rain. That's what ya get for not takin' good care of it."

He watched her green eyes narrow. Most of her grimace was being hidden by the bandana, but the scowl definitely existed.

"Fine. I'll fix ya up. I might as well see if everything else is workin' alright too." The Engineer walked over to one of the shelves on the far sides of the room after pointing to one of the chairs. "Go on. Sit."

Ol' Dust obeyed and calmly sat, but her mind filled with impatience. She pulled up her long sleeve, revealing the entirety of her arm. The metal stopped right before her elbow, and a defined steel band divided the flesh and man-made materials. The size of the artificial hand was symmetrical to her real one, Engineer's precision being the reasoning behind that.

The Texan looked through his things, then gathered a roll of sandpaper, a small flashlight, a full bottle, and a screwdriver. "I ain't got no lime juice, but this vinegar will do just the trick." He set everything on the table and pulled up a foldable chair before taking a seat in front of her. "You haven't been tryin' anymore of those weird experiments with those chemicals, have ya?" he asked while unscrewing the index finger of the prosthetic.

For a moment, the janitor held her breath and glared at the wall before responding. "...Of course n—"

"Ya better quit it before you blow yer other hand off, Dust." The Engineer spat, cutting her off.

"..."

He took the hand apart piece by piece, examining the machinery and wiring which made up the metal creation while Dust remained silent. Her heavy lids began to intrude her vision, and attempting to blink away the sleepiness proved to be futile.

"Haven't been sleepin' either, huh?" The Texan quickly noticed the fluttering of her eyes, plus the dark bags underneath them had already answered the question. The dark circles were one of the main reasons why a few of the mercs thought she was older than she actually was. The sound of his voice slightly knocked Dust out of her temporary trance.

"I'm alright." she quietly said, adjusting her legs in order to become more comfortable. Even if she did not say too much at the time, she really did appreciate the Engineer casting out subtle concerns to her—even if she believed that he was pretending. He was probably the only decent mercenary out of the bunch, she thought. The others were sick; Pure examples of greed and insanity.

Dust glanced down, seeing that the steel limb was gone. She thought back to whenever she received the metal hand, something that she believed that she would never get used to.

The Medic and the Engineer took part in performing her surgery years ago, and just the memory of how dreadful that experience was caused her to shiver. Ugh..That blasted Medic.. The gruesome imagery assaulted her thoughts. Something as precious as her right hand was taken from her, and she had no one but herself to blame. However, a bitterness against the REDs' doctor remained in her heart, a grudge that was forever welded into the pit of her consciousness. She was lost in her thoughts for so long that she didn't even notice the Texan reattaching the prosthetic.

"You still in there, Dust?" the Engineer waved his ungloved hand in front of her face, finally distracting her from her morbid thoughts. She nodded tiredly in response. Damn, she needed sleep. Insomnia was bringing on the most negative ideas within her head, and her aching body just yearned for rest.

"Yer all done. Luckily, none of the parts were that bad. Ya just had thin layer of rust surroundin' most of the joints, but I was able to scrape that off. There's still a few speckles left, but it ain't gonna slow ya down. The oil ain't bad yet either. Nothing's wrong with the motors inside and I put a few layers of primer on all the parts. That'll do the trick!" he chimed and gave her a quick pat on the shoulder.

He watched her flex and wiggle her newly-replenished iron fingers, experimenting with how smoothly they moved. Not one creak could be heard. She flicked her wrist, repeating the same actions. That Engineer was indeed a prodigy. Connecting such an appendage to human flesh had to take an extensive amount of knowledge in order to complete such a risky process—especially considering that it moved just like a normal hand.

Dust gave him a nod of acknowledgement then lifted herself from the small chair. "Thanks again." she remarked before walking towards the exit of the workshop.

"Get some rest now, ya hear?" the Texan insisted before she disappeared from the room.

* * *

**In the Mess Hall**

"—So, I come outta nowhere, right? An' as hard as I can, I slam my bat into his jaw! Who knows how many bones I broke, but it was a lot! I normally get clean shots, but this time, it was pretty freakin' messy! His teeth went flyin' an' shit, and blood splattered everywhere!" the Scout exclaimed, his bandaged hands moving as he talked. "He didn't even stand'a freakin' chance! Well, y'know that's ta be expected because no one can eva' handle how great I am. An'—"

The Sniper squeezed the bone in between his eyes with a low grumble, giving it gentle massages in an attempt to calm his nerves. Ugh, it was far too early for this. The kid just wouldn't stop talking..

Scout's stories of how he 'conquered' the battlefield and how he reigned victorious in every possible way always took over the entire morning. Sometimes, the Soldier would butt in, claiming he was the true reason behind certain successful kills, and that would bring on a whole new definition of racket. Getting through breakfast could be a chore sometimes.

Pyro always sat in front of the Scout, sitting indian-styled with his fists holding up his head in a child-like gesture. He would clap from time to time since he was rather thrilled with youngest mercenary's stories, but his acts of amusement only caused the Bostonian to continue his neverending tales of valiant feats. As if his massive ego wasn't big enough already.

The Aussie brought the coffee cup up to his lips, taking a huge amount of the hot liquid within his mouth before slamming the mug back on the table. He swallowed with a growl. "Gahhhh.."

"I believe you already told us this story before, no?" asked the Spy, agitation intruding his tone.

"Nahh! I don't think so!" A toothy grin stretched across the Scout's face when he turned towards him.

"Well, you did.." the Frenchman informed him, his icy eyes gradually becoming more intimidating.

"I did? Heh, damn.." he paused for a moment. "Oh well! I'll just cover more details that I might'a missed! So, anyways—"

Sniper's forehead smashed into the table in annoyance, another grumble seeping away from him. Heavy, who was sitting next to him, merely patted his back in a comforting fashion.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ol' Dust was lurking the halls of the Viaduct base, glancing over her shoulder just in case someone happened to be following. She peered up at a large antique clock which was aligned perfectly on the wall, and an impish smile formed underneath her blood red bandana when she studied the time.

_7:05_

She knew that they had arrived, but she had to hurry.

Dust sped up her movement through the halls. Engineer was still in his workshop, and she assumed that the rest of the mercenaries were in the mess hall having breakfast. Ms. Pauling must have delivered everything by now. The woman was never late! However, every deliverance was different, mostly because the janitor had tried this before. Dust was only guessing where their location might be, but despite failing to find the desired items in the past, it was worth a try.

With a few more careful steps, she had entered the locker room. The foreigner scanned behind her one last time, and after confirming that she was alone, she walked deeper into the dank area. Stoic eyes rolled towards the surveillance camera nailed in the top corner of the room, but she did not fear it. Previously that morning, she had already tampered with the wiring of the security system during her visit to the control room. It was a sloppy job, since she was no expert in this field, but she knew enough to buy herself some time.

Part of her didn't even care if she got caught. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad way to go. She was unaware of what she was truly living for, anyway. At the far end of the room, she spotted three, unpainted, metal units standing against the wall. Three more locked compartments were located on the front of each of the boxes, the sections all being marked with selected symbols representing the nine classes. She knew them well.

The Scout, the Soldier, and the Pyro's mailbox were located on the left unit. The Demoman, the Heavy, and the Engineer's were in the middle. Finally, the Medic, the Sniper, and the Spy's were on the right.

Dust unfastened two pieces of metal from the leather belt around her waist, and inched closer to the mailboxes, her body twitching with anticipation.

"Hmm.. Let's start with you, handsome." she whispered when she eyed the Scout's mail locker. With a few accurate movements of her iron appendage, she quickly put the objects in the holes of the locks, then carefully began to twist them ever so slightly until she heard a distinct 'click' sound.

With a smile, she opened the door of the box, then reached inside. It was full of mail, and a random assortment of papers. Undoubtedly from his mother, she thought. Dust hummed while looking through the envelopes until a special one caught her eye. Her features brightened when she read that it was from the main headquarters of TF Industries—a large Reliable Demolition Excavation stamp located in the right corner.

_Ahh. One down._

She held onto the single envelope while she neatly placed the others back inside. Dust bit down on her lip when she opened it, her emerald green eyes sparkling just at the sight of the contents inside.

Cold, hard cash.. It had to be close to a five hundred dollars...or eight hundred; maybe even a thousand. Whenever the RED team won a match, their pay was exceptionally great, especially if the Administrator believed their performance was phenomenal—as rare as that was. The janitor locked the compartment, then repeated the same lock-picking process on the rest of the mailboxes. Dust's precise metal fingers moved hastily, but she was not worried in the slightest. In fact, she felt extremely giddy. Finally, she held all nine envelopes in her hand—her 'well earned' prize for the morning.

_Not bad._

Oh, how she hated the mercenaries. They were practically the kings of the whole facility; getting a truck load of money, receiving their supplies for free, running and shouting around base like they own the place. Technically, they did, but she rebuked that idea. They were respected and loved inside the company while she had to clean up after them. Doing all these small favors for them and for what? Very little pay and mud flung in her general direction?

But, she knew she was there because she wanted to.._ Or felt that she couldn't leave._

The way some of them treated her caused her to grind her teeth together. Well, of course she wasn't the most friendly person towards them either; stealing their money from time to time or setting up a few traps around base? Replacing medicine with rat poison, sabotaging their weapons before a match? Nah. She thought of herself as a saint. Respawn always saved the day anyway.

She glared at the envelope filled with money, but for some reason, she did not feel satisfied. Dust already paid for the rest of her expenses for that month. She knew she didn't need the money. Perhaps, she could just save it—no, that just seemed dull. Quietly stepping to the long row of open, wooden lockers, her gloved fingers dragged across several items; items whom she believed to be in possession of the Spy. Redrawing her hand, she peered down at the newly found object, its cold metal actually cooling her skin through the fabric of her glove.

_A lighter._

With a flick of her finger, the top flipped open and an orange flame escaped from its small captivity. Dust's eyes narrowed, the fire reflecting brightly against her deep colored irises, then moved the lighter closer to the papers, still grasped tightly with her steel appendage.

Dust watched as the flame nipped at the edge of the paper, gradually outlining the item with embers until its entirety was mercilessly engulfed. The heated dance pasted on to the others, swallowing up all nine packages. Looking down at the blazing cash still resting in the palm of the woman's iron hand, she almost giggled. No.. She almost laughed hysterically, and she would have if it wouldn't draw unwanted attention to the locker room. Dust even forgot to remove one envelope in particular. She was absolutely loss in her bliss.

Her fingers black with leftover contents of burnt paper and her face reading of utter greed, her extremities crushed the remains, the ashes floating down in a slow twirl. Her eyes gleamed, watching the still-flaming substances break free from in between the metal fingers of the prosthetic.

A sigh of gratification finally came forth from Ol' Dust. She shook her hand free of the remaining ashes, the flames clearing dying on the floor. A very small stream of smoke waved above the pile of debris until a boot smashed its remaining life away. With her deed done, she walked out of the locker room, planning on enjoying the rest of her day.

The mess she had made was filthy and it highly bothered her, but she assumed the men deserved to know where their precious money had gone, so she generously left it there. A lovely pile of ashes.

The Merc's Viaduct mission was a success, but the only reward they were getting was a few days off duty.

_Sper să vă bucurați de darul meu, domnilor._

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter of ****Carry Me To A Silent Harvest****! I really appreciate your time and if you have one more moment to spare, please leave a review if you'd like! (Translation of last sentence= "****_I hope you enjoy my gift, gentlemen_****." Don't worry! Any unanswered questions will eventually be revealed!)**


	3. An Imminent Threat

Bandaged hands reached inside one of the mailboxes, grabbing a handful of the papers that rested within. Flipping through the many envelopes, the Scout read the names of the senders out loud. When they had enough space, the other eight mercenaries had also unlocked their boxes, and collected their array of packages while listening to the Bostonian repeat "Ma" several times.

Scout's blue eyes narrowed when he could not find a specific envelope, and agitation began to spark within him. "Hey, what gives? Where's the cash? You fellas get yours?" he questioned his teammates.

The Heavy scrambled through his papers, his eyes widening with a small hint of confusion as he shook his head.

"Mine ain't in here, either." the Sniper replied while digging through his very small pile of mail.

"Mrrphhh!" the pyromaniac waved his hands, attempting to alert the others who were gathered in front of him.

The Medic rubbed his chin. "Perhaps zhey haven't been delivered yet."

"It's past seven though!" the Scout ranted and shoved his hand back into his mailbox—just in case he missed something.

"Mrrrrhuuuddaaa?" Pyro began to point at something, but no one paid attention.

"Yeah, its already 7:30, plus Ms. Pauling has already delivered our other letters. She's always done a pretty good job roundin' everything up. Maybe she'll give em to us later." the Texan suggested calmly.

"Mphhhhmmmmhmhpmm!"

"Aye! What do ya want?!" the Demoman yelled, whirling around at the sound of the Pyro's muffled screaming and almost spilling his bottle of Scrumpy. The other mercenaries did the same, all turning around to face him.

Kneeling behind a blackened pile of ashes, the Pyro pointed to it, his index finger bouncing up and down above the debris. Scout's brows furrowed as he approached him, and knelt down in front of the pile, observing the heap of ash on the floor.

"Well, what is it?" the Spy asked while stepping closer to the mess.

The youngest mercenary surprisingly remained quiet, his face gradually contorting into quite the scowl. Scout's lips formed into an intimidating grin, his light-colored eyes burning with infuriation as he scoffed. Picking up a piece of what used to be a hundred dollar bill, he moved it closer to the Pyro's face.

"Mmmph?"

"You didn't...burn all the fuckin' cash, did'ja?" the Scout's grin had slowly disappeared. The fire-loving man began shaking both his gloved hands and his head, signalling that he was not the culprit, but it was to no avail. Scout grabbed onto the collar of the Pyro's flame-retardant suit, and slammed his fist into the right side of his mask. He was prepared to give another array of punches, but the Sniper had already latched his arms around the runner.

"C'mon, ya little ankle-biter! Stop it!" The Australian pulled him to his feet, but Scout did not make this an easy task for him. Sniper found himself being dragged forward due to the youngster's rough attempts to escape from his grasp. "Will ya stop it?! Why would he burn his own money?!" the older man questioned. An elbow jabbed into his chest, causing him to grunt in discomfort.

"Cause he's a fuckin' dumbass!" The Scout thrashed about, continuing his endeavours of breaking free by kicking, punching or scratching, and even if he drew closer to the pyromaniac on the floor, he was only pulled back again. "Let... me….GO!"

Meanwhile, the Engineer assisted Pyro in getting back to his feet, the poor thing rubbing his head through his rubbery mask. "Mph.." he moaned.

"You alright, partner?" the Southerner's voice almost sounded worried.

"Mhmm.." the Pyro nodded his head 'yes' and resumed in rubbing the sore area.

The Heavy and the Soldier proceeded in evaluating the pile of ashes with their own eyes, both becoming disappointed with the outcome. "All is burnt?" the Russian asked.

Swatting at the pile in an impulse of sudden irritation, the Soldier responded with a gruff sigh. "Every damn bill."

Getting fed up with the youngest mercenary's growls and rebuttals, Engie approached the boy with a dangerous look plastered upon his face. His threatening expression successfully distracted Scout from his childish motivations for the time being, but anger could still be seen in his icy eyes when he returned the Southerner's glare. "You best calm yerself right now, son." The Engineer's deep voice caused the Scout to freeze temporarily. "We already know that Smokey didn't do it. He got past that lil' habit years ago."

Scout tried to jerk away from Sniper multiple times, hating the feeling of partially being immobile, however the Aussie just tightened his grip every time.

The Frenchman breathed out a cloud of smoke, "I agree. I do not believe Pyro would do such a thing. Zhis mission was important to all of us, was it not? Why would he burn his reward?" The scent of the cigarette smoke actually caused the Medic to choke since it was blown right where he stood, but the Spy paid no mind.

Eventually, Scout's movements began to slow, his facial features softening by the second, but his heavy breathing still echoed throughout the locker room.

"Ya good?" Sniper asked, assuming the boy was calming down. Staring at the ground, Scout gave him a quick nod. "Ya sure?"

"Yeees!" The Bostonian's tone sounded annoyed.

"Positive?"

"Snipes!"

"A'ight." With that, Sniper finally released his grip around Scout.

The RED's runner glanced over at Pyro, who appeared to be pouting at the moment. "Sorry, Pal." he mumbled. The pyromaniac merely placed his gloved hands on his hips, tapping his foot on the ground because of increased aggravation. A muffled growl emitted from his gas mask.

Scout kneaded his fingers into his own shoulder, attempting to rub out the soreness from where the Aussie had his tight grip around him. "So, who the hell did it then?" he questioned his teammates as he cracked his neck.

"I thought it was rather obvious." The Spy remarked, his expression barely having any emotion.

The Engineer sighed while rubbing his forehead, knowing who the true culprit was from the start. He couldn't help but feel disappointed with the entire occasion. _Oh.. Why'd ya have to go and do that, Dust?_

He felt as if he had to protect her despite everything, he always had, but there was only so much he could do.

_Look what this place is turnin' you into.._

The Southern mercenary thought back to when the girl first came to the REDs. Over three years ago, it would seem that the new recruit was a completely different person. But now, she had allowed herself to be entirely tainted by the heat of war—a young woman molded by constant violence and the absence of peace. His eyes averted back to the Scout, and he couldn't help but think that Dust and him had more in common than anyone willed to think.

With his thoughts out the way, he allowed his full attention return to the present. The man knew how to save his income very well, so the absence of this reward would not fully impact his situation. At least they still got the territory. The others, on the other hand, were not as optimist. They stood in silence, contemplating as to who committed such an asinine action against them, but it did not take long for them to reach a conclusion.

"It was Dust, no doubt." the Medic finally said.

Scout reached behind him and pulled his aluminum bat free from his dufflebag. "He's so fuckin' dead." the riled man took off in an abrupt sprint across the the wooden floor. In a matter of seconds, his form had disappeared from the locker room.

"Gahh! Scout!" Sniper's feet shuffled across the floor, and quickly obtained one of his old rifles from his locker. "Why didn't ya grab 'im?!" he asked the Pyro who was standing closest to the door. An 'oops' sound came forth from his gas mask, then the fire-loving mercenary gave him a nervous giggle. All the hired killers had their fair share of taking the lives of others, however, the Sniper did not particularly favor killing those who were outside of his job task. Even if Ol' Dust had always made their lives fairly miserable within every base they've resided in, and that their pay had been burnt out of pure amusement, his _standards_ were final. He would not have it.

Sniper quickly departed from the locker room, and the other REDs trailed behind him after giving each other shrugs or questioning glances.

The Soldier didn't want the janitor dead yet either. He wanted to have an old-fashioned interrogation; a nice beating and inflicting fear included.

A rapid assortment of footsteps echoed throughout the hall as Scout bolted across the wooden planks while the other mercs attempted to catch up. He had enough of the uncanny janitor's random assaults towards him and his teammates. Though the youngest mercenary was not innocent of pulling pranks from time to time, when the sick joke was on him—it pissed him off. He had been waiting for this moment; an opportunity to put Ol' Dust in 'his' place. His eyes darted within every room that he passed, scanning every corner for that specific person. The Viaduct base was rather small so, finding someone wouldn't be such a lengthy task, especially with the Scout's speed. He barely heard the REDs call out to him, because he was partially deafened by the intense desire to beat the ragged janitor into the ground. For all the tricks and for burning their reward that they had been working to get for months, it was time to put an end to it.

A malevolent grin stretched across his face when Dust's figure finally appeared in his line of vision. Scout swiftly approached the custodian, and he undoubtedly increased his speed the closer he got to her. Confused, green eyes rolled towards him, but she had no time to react. The mercenary violently rammed his shoulder into her, the impact being heavily fueled by the immense amount of leg power. The wind was completely stolen from Dust's lungs as the collision forced her from her feet and sent her body crashing to the floor. Struggling to regain her breath, she peered up at her attacker, however her vision refused to focus. Dust attempted to crawl backwards when a blurred image of a bat appeared to be raising over her head.

The roar of gunfire resounded throughout the Viaduct base, startling both the Scout and the grounded custodian. A single bullet bounced off the Bostonian's metal bat while several sparks ignited where the projectile hit. He quickly turned his head towards the source of the random assault only to see Sniper lowering his rifle and the rest of his team drawing closer.

"Whoa! Who the hell are ya shooting at?!" Scout exclaimed, but the shot successfully distracted him long enough for Dust to crawl away from him. Before she could get too far, the mercenary managed to grab onto her ankle, hindering her from escaping. "Oh, no ya don't!"

Dust hated to admit it to herself, but fear mercilessly tugged at her heart. She instantly went against the idea of dying during that moment—even if she thought that she was previously prepared for it. Digging into her coat pocket, her fingers grasped a small pocket knife, and as fast as she possibly could, she unfolded the jagged blade with infallible ease. She drilled the knife into the Scout's bandaged hand, and to her advantage, he instantly released her.

Scout let out a short grunt of pain and hastily held his wounded hand out of natural impulse. Before he could retaliate against her, the Heavy had literally lifted him off the floor, and restrained his agile movements. He started pounding his fists against the Russian man's shoulders, but a sudden wave of lightheadedness slowed his attempts of freeing himself. "..What the…" he breathed, then shook his head, hoping the quick motion would clear his fuzzy vision. Blinking, he found no improvement with his sight, and he eventually found that his right arm was slowly becoming numb as well.

His slowing movements confused the Heavy, and his grip around Scout progressively weakened.

A prideful smirk appeared behind Dust's bandana, but when she found that the rest of the hired killers had her cornered, her small moment of victory quickly dissipated. Her eyes grew large as she gazed up to the men before her, their angry stares beating her further into the floor.

"What an unfortunate situation, wouldn't you agree?" the Spy asked her, being the first to speak after the prolonged silence.

Soldier cracked his knuckles on both his large hands and the Demoman slammed his empty rum bottle in his palm multiple times; both actions successfully intimidating the janitor.

"Better start explaining, Dummkopf." the Medic chimed.

They all began inching closer to Dust, their faces all possessing threatening features. The ragged janitor slowly crawled backwards, her hands scraping against the floor as she dragged herself away from them.

Then, an alarm sounded through the Viaduct base, catching the mercenaries and Ol' Dust off guard by its horrible shrill ringing. Red, rotating lights flashed across the halls, alerting all residents of the stronghold that an incoming message was on the way.

_"All Mercenaries and Staff: please report to the conference room immediately." _ The mercs immediately recognized the voice as the Administrator, and abrupt messages such as this never signalled to be a pleasant thing. Listening to the announcement echoing throughout the base once more, the REDs began to head towards the conference room, all speaking amongst themselves about their imminent fate. Dust was still on the floor, bewilderment evident in her deep-colored eyes, but she was forced from her trance when a gloved hand reached down to her.

"C'mon, Dust." the Engineer calmly commanded. She obliged and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Scout, who was currently thrown over the Heavy's shoulder,noticed the Texan's act of kindness and instantly began going against it.

"Whaddya doin'?! Don't help 'im! He's a fu—uuhh…" Dizziness intruded his head again, cutting his speech short.

_What the hell did he do ta me?_ Scout's thoughts were invaded by a horde of confusion.

During their tread to the conference room, the Medic peered up at the Scout, who was now helplessly dangling over the Heavy's shoulder. Trailing them, the German doctor evaluated his condition and studied all of his current symptoms. "Oooh. Interesting!" he said with a hint of gleeful curiosity coating his words.

Finally, they had reached the destined room. The area held a slight red lighting to it, and a large, polished table stood in the middle, an array of leather chairs outlining the piece of furniture. A map stretched across its surface, its entirety being most of the United States. Red markings indicated where every base was located, and it even listed infiltration plans on selected areas of the paper. Several tvs were aligned on the wall, and smaller pieces of machinery stood in various spots of the vicinity. There was not a corner that did not contain a surveillance camera—the Administrator saw all.

Besides the mercenaries and Dust, the only other staff member present was Ms. Pauling. Other associates only appear on campus when summoned by the Administrator, and most are too afraid to live or be at the base in the first place.

_"Have a seat."_ echoed the Administrator's ominous voice. All the intercoms vibrated as she spoke. The mercenaries quietly obeyed and each sat around the large table. Heavy had to drop Scout in one of the chairs, but the youngest man was still under the effects of the spontaneous dizziness and temporary paralysis. He slouched over the table, and due to the extreme numbness of his hand, he was completely unaware that he was getting fresh blood all over the surface. Dust sat next to the Engineer, but she continued to get threatening looks from the rest of the REDs. She tried not to make eye contact with any of them.

_"Mercenaries...Ms. Pauling had informed me that the payment for successfully overthrowing the Viaduct territory has been permanently destroyed, but I will not be replenishing your loss. Perhaps, if you were more responsible with your possessions, this occurrence wouldn't have taken place. May a lesson be learned._" The Administrator started.

"Bullshit.." whispered the Scout.

"Shh!" the Sniper gave him a warning look.

"_Though violence is highly appreciated within this company, certain actions must be made to accumulate order within the base. I have very little interest with your personal desire of annihilating anyone you see fit, however, when the victim happens to be the only salaried custodian who can potentially benefit the fortresses we currently own—I will not tolerate further revenge against him_."

An unnerving silence covered the room for a moment. Dust wanted to roll her eyes at the Administrator referring to her as a _h_e when she knew the truth. The powerful woman always thought that girl would be a distraction if she dressed otherwise and knowing that she's female may decrease the performance of the mercenaries, so she never provided her with decent clothing. Dust would buy her own attire, but her limited pay hardly allowed that. At the same time, she had stopped caring about a year ago. She practically went into this job giving up everything anyway. It was either working for the REDs or going to prison.. Honestly, she was beginning to forget the difference.

_"I will be responsible for punishing the culprit, but please keep this in mind, gentlemen. As long as you are employed within the Reliable Demolition Excavation organization, if I see repeated actions, you will be disciplined yourselves. You'll find that it'll be most unpleasant. Despite this, the victim's conduct is very unacceptable. If additional items owned or delivered by TF Industries get demolished because of childish intentions, then you may dispose of our custodian in any fashion that you please. I expect my rules to be followed._"

Dust felt like a deer caught in headlights. She felt herself gulp a mouthful of saliva, anxiety being the dominant emotion within her.

_"With that aside, we have more crucial matters at hand. Your next assignment is to thoroughly search the empty BLU base on the other side of the valley. You are seeking any leads as to where their location might be, along with possible dates of their next assault. Also, collect any left behind weapons, medi-kits, and ammo. Take very good care of your own weapons and be extremely responsible with your ammunition. There is going to be one final shipment of supplies from Mann Co. and it should be arriving in three days. Afterwards, I am unaware of when we will be receiving further items to assist your team._"

The mercenaries expressions turned into shocked ones. What did she mean that she _didn't know_ when they would be receiving new items? The war strictly depended on new weapons and without a decent ammunition replenishment, how would they fight? Mann. Co. had always provided them with their necessary provisions. If one of their weapons broke during a battle, they could easily replace it in no time. They had an appropriate amount of supplies already, but the REDs began to get nervous. Also, the Administrator had always known the whereabouts of the BLUs, because of her mysterious ways. She was the one who scheduled the missions. This new task was rather strange for them

"_Doctor, please confiscate the janitor's knife for the time being. I am sure that everyone is rather curious as to why a mere stab caused such interesting symptoms, so after carefully analyzing its effects, you may heal the Scout. I'm sure our custodian will kindly share its effective properties as well. We might be able to use such resources in combat. Be very careful. Our enemies have become rather unpredictable. Perhaps, extra training would be wise. Mercenaries, you are now dismissed._" their employer commanded.

The Medic sat up from his chair and walked towards Ol' Dust, who was currently not too keen in giving up her weapon. With narrowed eyes, she simply handed the pocket knife to the German doctor, wanting to avoid a lengthy confrontation with him. She wanted to gank him here and now, but maybe doing that right after such an important meeting would not be the wisest idea. The Medic accepted the knife and followed the rest of his teammates out the conference room.

Ol' Dust sat uncomfortably in the leather chair, adjusting herself every now and then in response to her nervousness. She chewed on her lip while she waited in silence for the Administrator's next words; a private conference no doubt. The pressure ripped into her uneasy mind.

Once Ms. Pauling and Dust were the only ones in the room, the powerful voice finally resumed.

_"Ms. Dobré, your continuous acts of stupidity greatly baffles me. Years ago, you come begging us to hide you from your petty crimes, and just be well aware that I can easily hand you to the very authorities that you fear so much even if it complicates my business. They will feed on you like ravenous wolves, and you won't have anything else to hide behind. Do you understand me?_"

"..Yes, ma'am." Her voice sounded weak.

_"Remove that rag from your mouth when speaking to me."_ The Administrator warned.

Trembling fingers reached for the blood red bandana hiding her mouth and nose, and she slowly pulled it down.

"Yes, ma'am." Dust repeated.

"_Your willingness to work here partially fascinates me. You're practically a dog. A coward of a dog, but on a personal note, I feel as if your talents could benefit us in some way. It's one of the main reasons why I haven't had you slaughtered yet. If I gather enough evidence that your weapons may hold beneficial elements that we can rely on within our war, you will be assigned a new task. But for now, vandalizing company-owned property is a huge example of injudiciousness—Also, a representation of ignorance of where you stand. I will not waste any more funds on your actions. Later this evening, you will catch the next train. You will work at the Red Valley Mines until you are able to pay for the damage you did to my surveillance cameras. Also, clean up __**your**__ mess on the table. Then, you may be excused._"

With that, silence washed over the conference room once more. Ms. Pauling gave the girl a quick glance, almost feeling pity for her. A shuddered sigh seeped out Dust's dry mouth as she pulled the bandana back to its original place. She pulled a out a handkerchief from her pocket and approached the giant blood spot on the mahogany table. Her nose scrunched up in disgust. Soaking the red, thick liquid with the piece of cloth, she contemplated on what just happened. It was going to be a long week, but considering the priceless appearances on the mercenaries faces, her actions were definitely worth it for her, but she knew that she would not be burning anymore cash whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

**15 Minutes Later**

The janitor had left the room, and the only one remaining was Ms. Pauling. She peered up at one of the security cameras, concern coating her facial expression. "What has happened, Ma'am?"

"I have lost all contact with Builders League United. It seems that there is a traitor within the TF Industries and has cut me off from most of the affairs that I used to have leadership over. Also, I can no longer contact Mr. Saxton Hale in order to receive more supplies from Mann. Co.—Attempts of communicating with them is futile."

Ms. Pauling was rather shocked. The Administrator was probably the most powerful person in all of the TF Industries. Who would dare to even attempt this?

"Without knowledge of what is happening with the BLU team, and without new provisions to assist our mercenaries, I can only assume that someone wants this war to end very soon. We need all the supplies that we can get, so allowing Ms. Dobré to live and providing extra support isn't the poorest of choices. You should return to headquarters, Ms. Pauling. Perhaps, an ambush is imminent."


	4. Toxic

Once dismissed from the Administrator's spontaneous conference, the troubled REDs sulked towards the heart of the Viaduct base. Knowing they could not carry out their next scouting mission without their Scout, they figured that they would pass the time with their own desired activities until the Bostonian was back on his feet. When the Medic had the opportunity to perform experiments on his patients, it was no telling how long it would take. A majority of the group planned to distract themselves from their unfortunate morning by either playing a small game of poker or having a quick smoke within the recreational area. The Sniper, Heavy, and the Pyro attempted to help the wounded loudmouth to the Medic's domain, the latter just being curious about his current situation. The German doctor had already sped ahead, and had begun preparing his equipment for Scout's examination.

Even if their destination was not located too far away in the base, it probably took longer than it should have to reach it, mostly due to the many hassles that came with their youngest teammate. Scout's constant wailing about wanting to bash Dust's skull in or simply not wanting to be helped right away until he had fulfilled his deed proved to be a bother. At one point, he even tried to walk without any assistance, but whenever his face almost went crashing into the rough, splintered floor, of course that effort did not last long.

"_Ugghh_.. I'll can't—_uggh_..I can't freakin' feel my arm, man." groaned the Scout with his head slightly hanging downwards until his cap nearly slipped off. "Wait..I can't even feel my face."

"Oh, quit your complainin'. You're alright." Sniper mumbled in a low tone, obviously irritated with the younger mercenary's frequent whines. Everytime the boy would temporarily lose his footing due to a wave of dizziness, it would cause the Australian to almost fall as well since he was the one supporting most of his weight. He was beginning to think he was doing this on purpose just to infuriate him even more. His pitiful movements just seemed to be over-exaggerated in his eyes. Scout had tripped him in the past so it wouldn't be much of a surprise. "Thank Christ. We're finally here."

The small group of REDs walked into the base's infirmary, and placed the disoriented Scout on the exam table in the middle of the surprisingly, clean room. Archimedes, one of the Medic's faithful doves, had flown down to greet the visiting mercs. The white bird let out a few coos before landing on Sniper's shoulder, catching him off guard. Archimedes ruffled its snow white feathers for a moment, its head tilting multiple time as its claws dug into his brown vest.

"Uh..?"

Its jet black eyes peered at the Australian for a few seconds before jabbing its sharp beak right into his face.

"Arghh! Piss off!" Sniper snarled while shooing the dove away with one hand, and rubbing where it had pecked him with the other. A muffled giggle came from the Pyro, but he instantly silenced when the Aussie gave him an angry stare.

The Medic chuckled at the sight and made his way to the examination table. "Ahh. Let'z get started, shall we?"

Scout barely made a response. His icy-blue eyes rolled over to the doctor for a split second, but closed them as soon as another wave of black intruded his vision. Beginning his evaluation, Medic lifted Scout's limp arm which had turned a tint darker than his normal skin color; most likely because it had lost all circulation. He slowly unwinded the bloodied bandages that were tightly wrapped around the younger mercenary's hand, and the doctor's face brightened with a morbid excitement when he saw that his punctured flesh was turning an uncanny shade of purple. Even the Bostonian's veins were discolored, and they appeared to be trailing up his lifeless arm, threatening to spread even further to his shoulder.

Beads of sweat rolled down Scout's cold face while his vision continued to worsen. His lips were slightly parted and shuddered breaths struggled to escape from his dry mouth. His condition definitely had not improved at all since the conference meeting and his tough-guy exterior was gradually breaking down. The Medic gazed at his dazed expression, and pressed a stethoscope to his chest, carefully counting his rapid heartbeats. "Thiz iz so amusing."

Sniper had been eyeing Dust's pocket knife which was laying on the desk ever since they had entered the infirmary, however his curiosity eventually took over. "It don't take a genius to figure out that Ol' Dust poisoned 'im." Sniper stated while studying her knife. He twisted the handle as he viewed every inch of the small weapon. Noticing an obvious sheen of suspicious substances coating its jagged blade, he motioned for the other mercenaries to view it. "Have a look."

"Ahh.." Heavy appeared to be intrigued as well while he viewed the tiny knife. "What type poison do you think it is?"

"If I didn't know any better, I would think it's snake venom, mate. I've seen plenty of snake bites in my lifetime, and that venom could be some pretty nasty stuff. What do ya think, Doc?"

"It could be. I've also dealt with snake bites back when I was still a licensed doctor and some of zhe side-effects definitely match. Heh. It's a possibility zhat it could be toxin from a snake mixed with something else. Most likely a type of drug or another chemical to speed up zhe process, but knowing Dust, ze fool was probably just experimenting with different types of substances without knowing what zhey might do. Zhat could be the reasoning behind herr Scout's different symptoms." the Medic ran the back of his gloved hand against his cheek, oblivious to the fact that he accidentally wiped a bit of Scout's blood on his face. He knew of Ol' Dust's fascination with irresponsibly messing with dangerous chemicals. It was one of her experiments that caused her to lose most of her arm in the first place, and of course, he had to help clean up afterwards. That was a fun operation indeed, he thought.

"Well, it definitely worked." Sniper said while glancing at the Bostonian who was absentmindedly staring at the floor. Many of their desert bases were often covered in poisonous snakes. He had even hunted a few of them as target practice during a few ceasefires in the past, so it was definitely not impossible that Dust could have used that to her advantage. He couldn't decide if that was clever or just flat out idiotic that someone could even think to mess with something that was as dangerous as snakes.

Then again, the janitor also worked with nine trained killers who excelled in using guns, fire, and lethal bombs. Maybe a snake would be less of a threat compared to the REDs. The Aussie agreed with the Medic about the unknown drugs and chemicals too. Dust had stolen many things in the past—not just their prized goods. Perhaps, she had stolen drugs from the infirmary at one point, and as for the other types of chemicals, she works with them for a living, so getting possession of them appeared to be extremely easy.

With a reflex hammer, the Medic began hitting in specific areas on Scout's wounded arm, but due to the poison, he made no responses. "I believe zhe only reason why it affected him so much is because he couldn't keep still. His constant movements only stimulated the poison and caused it to spread much faster than it should have." the Doctor stated while facing Sniper and Heavy with a shrug. He had lost track of where he was hitting with the hammer in the midst of his speech and with a quick flick of his wrist, he had accidentally hit the Scout in the eye.

"OWW!"

"Whoops! At least ve know you can feel your eye!" the Medic giggled optimistically.

"..Fuck you.." Scout muttered under his breath. It was to be expected of course. Even when sick or injured, the runner always had enough energy for insults.

"Anyway, we should simply ask so we can truly be sure about what types of poisons Dust used. I honestly vould love to fill my syringes with zhis material. I suppose it vould be very helpful in a match, vouldn't you agree?!" Medic smiled largely at the thought.

"Janitor never spoke to us before. How do you know he'll speak now?" the Heavy asked, while handing the knife back to the Sniper.

Pyro nodded in agreement to the large man. "Mhhumm."

"Ze Engineer will make him talk, plus it's the Administrator's orders zhat he gives us all the information we need. We have nothing to worry about." the Medic replied with a stern tone. In the middle of his statement, the German was still evaluating Scout, and writing every one of his symptoms in a notebook after a long chain of tests—even if the tests would seem inhumane for a normal doctor. Of course, he was far from ordinary. He let out a gleeful chuckle as he plunged a needle into Scout's damaged arm, and took a large amount of blood for future assessments.

"Now that ya mention it, Engie is always helpin' out the bloke. I wonda' why? Dust always gives us problems. I ain't quite sure why he always wastin' his time on that one." the Sniper rubbed the stubble on his chin with his index finger and thumb as he thought out loud.

"There iz many things that you don't know."

"Well, why don't ya enlighten me then, Doc?"

"Perhaps, another time?" the Medic was far too distracted at the moment, much to Sniper's disappointment. "Now, tell me herr Scout.. How vould you describe how you currently feel?" the spirited doctor asked, a grin stretching across his face.

"I feel like crap.." was all the Bostonian managed to say.

The Medic's grin vanished as he raised a brow. "Be more specific.."

"Just heal me already, Doc.." Scout groaned, his very little patience had finally run out.

With narrowed eyes, the RED's doctor finally reached for his Medigun, figuring that he had enough amusement for the time being. "If you insist.." he said while activating the gun. Within seconds, Scout's body was completely engulfed with the red ray from the Medic's gun and he was eventually healed from all of his injuries.

"Took ya long enough!" the mercenary exclaimed as he hopped down from the examination table. He bounced on his toes for a while, feeling overjoyed that his energy had returned. "Woo! I feel good!"

"Alright, ya gremlin. Remember what the boss said about Dust? Ya try anything, ya get punished. Ya understand, kid?" Sniper asked the still-bouncing Scout.

"Yeah, yeah. Gotcha." A cocky smirk appeared on the young man's face, but the Aussie couldn't help but feel rather suspicious of him.

"Let us regroup with others now. We have mission." bellowed the Heavy while he approached the exit.

"Hudda hudda huuu!" the Pyro clapped a few times before frolicking after the Russian.

"Comin' through!" Scout sped ahead of his teammates, his boundless energy fueling his ego once again. "I'll meet you guys at the BLU's base!" The remaining four REDs watched him run away until he turned a corner—two of them even rolled their eyes when they heard him call out: "_Don't take too long, guys_!"

After visiting the recreational area of the Viaduct's RED base, and alerting the other mercenaries that it was time to engage in their next mission, the eight men walked across the valley towards their enemies' old abandoned base. Scout was already there, and he had already successfully found a box of ammo that the BLUs had left behind.

The base was a complete wreck. Broken glass was left scattered across the uneven ground, some even still covered in dried blood—an eerie reminder that a gruesome battle had taken place just a night before. Most of the blue paint had been blown off and the only features left of the BLU's old fortress was seared wood; all tainted with ashes, blood, or hardened mud.

With the nine mercenaries of the Reliable Demolition Excavation team reunited, they began to search every square inch of the area, hoping to find any clues as to where their enemies could have fled to. They were still unaware why the Administrator commanded them to collect weapons, and ammo, but orders were orders. Though some of the mercs were slightly mentally unstable, they knew how to follow any instructions that were given to them by someone who was superior to them. They had a long morning ahead of them, and they intended to complete this assignment before the day dissolved into a tiresome night.


	5. Closet of Trinkets

_**Four Days Later**_

The amiable Engineer gently strummed the strings of his acoustic guitar with his gloved hand, the soft, harmonious melody melting away any of the stress that a few of his teammates might have possessed. Earlier that day, the mercenaries had finished a cold morning of intense training which had always tested their endurance and their mental performance. Without a well-planned strategy, any battle would be lost unless they had a lucky streak, however the Administrator never liked the word "lucky." If they had potential, it was a necessity to fight correctly until they had reached their limit—even if it was just training.

Their almost-faithful doctor had already healed their plentiful injuries, including his own. They had freshened up, and without a new mission, the men had the rest of the day to recuperate once again. As much as they loved the many days off, they were beginning to get anxious. They were getting rather suspicious that they had not heard from the Administrator ever since they reported their findings from the BLU base four days earlier. It was to be expected that they would not find that many essentials left behind at their base, but it was slightly strange that they barely found anything at all.

In the past, the REDs were always able to find a decent supply of things, even to the point where Mann. Co didn't even need to ship them new items. Of course, when they_ needed_ to scavenge for supplies, the amount would be extremely limited. There was not even a map of their infiltration plans, classified information, or any functional weapons in any of their heavily locked-down rooms. They were able to collect leftover ammo and medical supplies even if they were very scarce, but it was better than nothing. To add on to their suspicions, the base was oddly covered in traps, and many were sent to Respawn because of the severity of some of the more dangerous ones. It was as if someone was expecting them to go search the BLU's stronghold. They couldn't help but think that the Administrator herself was trying to get rid of them.

The REDs had also received another shipment of provisions a day earlier from Mann. Co, but they were very unhappy with the minimal contents. As reckless as most of the mercenaries were, the idea that this order of items could possibly be the last one they get for a while made them drastically uneasy.

Usually, they would have had one or two more missions by now, but things appeared to be way too quiet—especially since Ol' Dust had been gone as well. The janitor was still working at the Red Valley Mines for punishment because of her previous actions.

The Soldier and the Demoman were playing a game of chess at one of the rounded, wooden tables in the middle of the recreational area while the Pyro joyfully watched. The angered patriot would slam his large hand against the table whenever Demo made a step closer to winning the game. Heavy was polishing his beloved minigun, and smiling happily when _Sasha_ would sparkle due to the Russian's frequent scrubs. The Sniper and the Spy engaged in a quiet conversation which would sometimes turn into an argument, but none of noise interrupted the Texan's guitar playing. The song mixed nicely with the low chatter.

Of course, the peace never lasted forever.

The double doors of the rec room were mercilessly swung open, and the scamper of sneakers followed directly after.

"Hey, fellas! Any of you seen my ball?" the Scout loudly asked without making eye contact with any of his teammates. Instead, he scanned the room for anything that might have been familiar to him. The older eight mercenaries attempted to block him out, but this effort was beyond futile. "_Guuuuuuuys_!?"

"Zhere is nothing of zhe sort in here." Spy replied while rolling his eyes.

"Ya sure? I've been lookin' everywhere. I can't freakin' find it!" the energetic man complained while placing his bandaged hands on the back of the doctor's chair. "Ey, Lemme borrow 'dis. Yeah, thanks." Scout was now standing in the chair—which he had blatantly stolen from the Medic—and began desperately searching on top of one of the mahogany cupboards which held a few weapons and an assortment of random objects. "C'mon, a little help here?!"

"Boy, there ain't no tellin' how many baseballs you have. Just get another one." The Engineer calmly suggested while still strumming the instrument's strings.

"I _can't_ just get anotha' one. This is a _special_ ball!" the Bostonian informed while crawling underneath the table.

"How can ball be special?" Heavy asked while continuing his intense cleaning of his weapon.

"How can a _gun_ be special, huh tough guy?" Scout turned his head towards the Russian with narrowed blue eyes.

Heavy shrugged. "Many ways."

The youngest mercenary lifted his arms up in aggravation and slammed them back down against his thighs. The slap noise and his exasperated sigh echoed throughout the room. "Argh..C'mon guys. I really gotta find 'dis ball. It's signed!"

"Signed by?" Heavy asked before being elbowed by a distressed Medic.

"One of the freakin' gods of baseball! A force-of-nature that is almost second to me, and a complete legend!"

"Oh..Zhere he goes." the German doctor whispered sadly.

"This guy is insane! He was '_The Greatest Hitter Who Eva' Lived_!' '_The Splendid Splinter_?!' Oh man! He was my idol growing up! He's no Babe Ruth, but Ted Williams is the next best thing! Not only that, but he's from the best team eva'! The Boston Red Sox! Only the best baseball players come from Boston._ Ahem_, much like myself. Actually, all the greatest kind of people come from da good ol' Bay State, ya know?! Well, you guys are alright too, but you just don't have any idea how awesome we are." Scout's toothy grin lit up his features as pride engulfed his conscious.

"Well, when was the last time ya saw the ball?" the Engineer questioned the runner while continuing his soothing song.

"A few days ago, I think. I know it's somewhere around here. I neva' leave without it." Scout replied, still scanning the floor of the rec room.

A low chuckle seeped from the Texan's lips as he lowered his head so he could see where his gloved fingers were positioned on his guitar strings.

"What's so funny?" the Scout finally stopped his searching and observed Engie's giddy expression.

"Well, I have an idea of where it_ could_ be, but yer not gonna like it one bit."

Stepping a few inches closer to the Engineer, Scout couldn't help but feel a bit relieved that it wasn't lost forever. "So? Where is it, Hardhat?"

"The janitor might have it." Engie laughed again when he watched the color drain from Scout's thin face. "Ol' Dust has always had a bad habit of pickin' up things that happen to be lyin' around the base."

"That freakin' sorry good for nothin' piece of sh—"

"It's your fault for losin' it, son." The Engineer lectured, cutting Scout off. "I ain't sayin' that's where it really is, but it's a possibility."

An evident grimace covered the young mercenary's face. Scrunching up his nose, he scoffed and power-walked towards the exit.

"Where ya goin', ya wee mutt? Sit down and relax!" the Demoman exclaimed while dodging one of the chess pieces which was hurled at his head. Soldier was not the happiest campier since he had lost that friendly game of chess.

"I'm goin' to find Old **_Dirt_** and have a word with him!"

"He's not even back yet. He's still at the mines, mate. You'll be in a world of trouble if ya try somethin' stupid!" Sniper called out.

"Then, I'm gonna find where he keeps all his stolen crap!"

"Mphh!" A muffled yell from Pyro caused Scout to whirl around in response. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed that the flame-loving mercenary had something hidden in his gloved hands.

"Hey! Ya found it, Mumbles?!" the man appeared overjoyed.

"Muuhhmm!" Pyro bounced a few times before opening his hands, revealing his surprise.

The light from Scout's eyes quickly vanished along with his smile. A suppressed "_tada_!" seeped from the happy Pyro's mask while the younger man stared down in disbelief. It was a small gumball, that happened to be stylized after a baseball, along with a red sock. Though the pyromaniac appeared to be very happy with himself, Scout was quite the opposite. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out for the longest time.

"W-wha?! I-I.. Uhh.. This..I can't even.. W-w-what the fu-." His eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to wrap his mind around his teammate's cruel prank or that this could be what the Pyro truly thought he wanted. ".. I-I-I don't _even_.." Scout's face froze for a moment in a confused manner, but as soon as he snapped out of it, he proceeded to walk towards the exit, unable to come up with anything to say.

"You should probably—" Engie called out, but the boy was already gone. "...wait till later this afternoon.." he murmured under his breath. He shook his head at Scout's impatience, and returned his attention to his guitar. _Better hurry up, String Bean..._

Pyro stood there with his arms still outstretched. "Huh?"

"We now know his weakness. Fine work." Spy told the confused fire-lover as he lit another cigarette.

* * *

Scout had been searching through the RED Viaduct base for close to an hour now, and he was growing beyond impatient. On the opposite side of the valley's stronghold, he found himself standing before one of the many doors that he was not allowed to go in. He had already broken into the last five of them, and there was no way that this one would be any different. Scout had his fair share of breaking into places that he was not permitted to enter so naturally, he was exceptionally experienced with prying doors open or cracking codes. It was usually his job to steal the BLU team's Intel or other classified documents during their missions anyway; A task like this had become easy for him.

After carefully tampering with the door's lock, he finally heard the distinct 'click' sound, signalling that it was now unlocked. With a smirk, he turned the knob and fearlessly walked into the room before locking the door behind him. It was far too dark for him to see inside even if some sunlight forced its way in through the tight window shades.

His bandaged hands clumsily brushed against the wall in an attempt to find a light switch. "I knew I should'a brought Mumbles with me.." he whispered to himself. After a couple minutes, Scout's fingers finally contacted with the switch, and a dim light spread across the room as soon as he activated it. He blinked in confusion when he noticed that the area merely appeared to be a small bedroom. The room was moderately plain, the entirety of the space either being ivory or a light red color, and it possessed very little furniture, but of course Scout could care less. He knew this had to be where Ol' Dust slept. It was the only place left.

He chuckled to himself while his eyes continued to view every inch of the room. "Alright. Where do ya keep the goods?" he asked out loud while he rubbed his hands together. He took a peek under the bed, expecting a ton of things to be underneath—just like his, but he was surprised to find nothing. The majority of the room was completely spotless which honestly took him off guard. There was a small, old dresser that stood close to the bed, and naturally, he searched it. Again, he was unsuccessful in finding his glorious baseball. Instead, the dresser was filled with neatly-folded clothes, a flashlight, knives and multiple gun rounds, but needlessly to say, Scout was completely confused by what he found next; undergarments that would definitely not be worn by a man.

"Da hell man? This guy's a creep…" he remarked while slamming the dresser shut. From the corner of his eye, he noticed another door located in the back of the room. He lifted an eyebrow while he got back to his feet and approached it. He almost tripped over the cheap, shag rug on the floor, and bounced a few times on one foot until he recovered his balance. He didn't bother to straighten it back out since he was far too interested with the new door. The Bostonian growled after turning the copper knob, only finding that this door was locked as well, but after a few seconds of his lock-picking skills, he chuckled in victory when it clicked open.

Scout walked into the closet and pulled a small string, turning on the light, and studied the contents of the unfamiliar room. He passed right by some of the janitorial supplies with widened eyes only to be exceedingly surprised at the amount of items that were piled in a highly organized fashion all around.

Every box or unlocked crate was neatly labeled, but it was in a language that he could not understand.

Curiously, Scout began opening one of the boxes, not even caring where he threw the lid. "What the…" he trailed off when he reached inside.

_Broken gun pieces..?_

Not just any broken gun pieces, but damaged segments of weapons that were once used by him or his eight teammates.

_Slightly underwhelming.._

He tore into another box, only to find a variety of different parts of firearms or machinery—all damaged or incomplete items that must have belonged to the mercenaries at one point. The Engineer could possibly fix some of these up; that man could fix anything. Scout even recognized prototype weapons that never made mass-production in another one of Ol' Dust's crates. Continuing his raid, he spotted another array of items that were not entirely broken, and in addition to his findings, he even found a crate filled with different types of ammunition.

_An' that ol' dirt bag has been keepin' this a secret?!_

Oh, his teammates had to hear about this! With Ol' Dust's secret stash of essentials, maybe the Administrator would brighten her opinion about their last unsuccessful raid. No wonder the janitor always had tons of junk on every train ride!

Alright, it was now time to find his "awesome" ball.

He dug through a few more boxes until one held unique contents that he was not entirely expecting. His fingers lightly gripped onto a white, laced shoe; the footwear possessing a long, sparkling blade attached to the sole.

_Odd.._

Throwing the bladed shoe to the side, he continued to dig within this particular box, and to his surprise, his hands were buried with ribbons, medals, and trophies. He was mildly amused since it reminded him of his own collection of rewards, but this was all so strange to him. Especially considering whose closet he was in. There were newspapers as well, but again, he could not read the language of the text. The only thing that caught his eye was a black and white picture of a girl wearing the shoes that he had previously found, and she was elegantly posing over what he thought was ice. He lifted both his brows as a grin sneaked on his face. "Not bad.." he whispered, but he knew he was taking too long. He would have to ask Ol' Dust about this certain box before he _accidentally_ caused a hazard for the RED's janitor.

Finally, he tore into a crate that was filled with an assortment of miscellaneous objects that he instantly recognized. Old hats, baseballs, lighters, guitar strings, and random toys that used to belong to Pyro—all things that once belonged to him or his teammates. Scout scoffed.. Ol' Dust literally had a sick hobby of collecting everything that she found on the ground/floor, even if she knew it did not belong to her. Who knew how long she had been doing this.

"Hey! There you are!" Scout reached into the crate and pulled out his signed baseball. His smile widened as he rested the ball against his face in a tiny hug. "Ahh. I love you." he mumbled in relief. His smirk eventually disappeared when he noticed how many things actually belonged to him. "Wait.. That's mine.. That's _mine_. Aaand, that's** mine** too.." he quietly whined. Oh well, he was going to try to take everything that he could. Baseballs, baseball gloves, and hats included. He might have to make two trips.

After turning out the light, Scout filled his arms with as many of his possessions as he could, and happily walked out of the closet feeling quite accomplished. Suddenly, a series of clicks caused him to automatically freeze once he got halfway across the room. His eyes quickly averted towards the copper doorknob, and he could have sworn that his heart stopped when he watched it slowly turn. "Oh shhhhhit." he barely whispered as he bolted towards the closet once again, and quickly pulled the door shut. He winced when a crashing sound echoed within the small space when he dropped a few of his things on the floor. He did not entirely know why he was hiding, and he actually criticized himself for doing so. The young mercenary tried to quiet his breathing while he peeked through the door vent, and unfortunately watched as a ragged figure casually trudged into the room.

Ol' Dust's bleach-stained clothes appeared to be extremely dirty, and she quietly groaned to herself when she noticed that her knee-high boots were leaving a trail of red mud on the previously clean floor. The last couple of days had been long and stressful, but thankfully her punishment within the Red Valley Mines was over. She took in a long breath through her nose, and exhaled out of exhaustion. Her deep green eyes rolled towards her neatly made-up bed and the thought of sleep actually lifted her spirits for the time being, but she had to clean up her mess before she could peacefully rest. She cursed herself for her overly-obsessive habits. Time to clean. Of course, she needed supplies first.

But, the tired janitor knew there was a spare mop in her _**closet**_.

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva and trying to ease himself of his tinge of nervousness, Scout observed every movement that Dust made. The sound of her boots heavily hitting the wooden floor seemed much louder than it actually was at the moment, each step reverberating in his ears in a cruel mental assault. He bit his lip as he watched the uncanny custodian approach the closet door, the dirty figure beginning to block out the light while she drew nearer. He couldn't help but fidget.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit.. I left the stupid door unlocked!_

Scout held his breath while he painfully watched Dust reach for the handle after she stopped at the door. Maybe if he killed Dust now, maybe he wouldn't get in too much hot water with the Administrator.. He could possibly use the closet of trinkets against the janitor in some way. He was experienced in coming up with creative fibs in order to get himself out of trouble. The frantic Bostonian's mind was a frenzy of thoughts. It was as if a mental whirlwind had invaded his head, and forced him to plot the most craziest of ways he could possibly escape from this awful mess that he jumped right into.

Eventually, he noticed something strange. The door never opened.

Dust narrowed her eyes in frustration.

She remembered that she left the mop bucket in the main janitorial closet on the other side of the base before she went to the mines. Plus, she couldn't use the mop without any water. The lack of sleep definitely took a toll on her mind. With an irritating sigh, she turned around and headed for the exit of her room, allowing Scout to let out the most relieved breath of his life.

Dust's metal hand reached for the doorknob, and began to twist it, however, she froze her movements for a moment. Scout was still watching from inside the closet through the door vents, and he almost whimpered when she turned her back towards the exit again. Even if her nose and mouth were covered with her infamous bandana, he could still see the suspicion in her narrowed, emerald eyes as they scanned around the room. The three scars surrounding her left eye only added on to ferociousness of her intense glare.

She peered down at the white shag rug, noticing that one of the corners had been messily folded over the top—_as if someone might have tripped over it._ That was very unlike her.. and she knew it. Wait a minute.. The light was on too?! Someone else had definitely been in her room. With an intimidating scowl, she inched closer to the closet door once more, her eyes gleaming with annoyance.

Scout helplessly watched as Dust grew dangerously closer to his hiding spot, and felt chills travel up his spine when he heard her steel hand clang against the cold handle of the door.


End file.
